For The Impala
by Spnchick09
Summary: The day the Impala's radiator cracked, Dean sang 'You Shook Me All Night Long' and Sam nearly wound up with a hernia.


Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, nor do I own anyone or anything affiliated with it. Which totally sucks, by the way. 

**Author's Note: **So it's an idea that's stuck with me a while, and because I'm waiting until the day when Eric Kripke decides to use it, I figured I'd just do it myself for now. Oh, and I haven't written a Supernatural fic in FOREVER, so if it sucks, I'll just blame it on my lack of a muse for months. D

* * *

There was one thing Dean Winchester refused to pay for under a fake name.

His car.

The Impala was his. He refused to pay for anything it needed under the name Dean Mahogoff. However, he also refused to pay for it under the name Dean Winchester. Especially now, considering that a '67 Chevy Impala wouldn't be hard to spot with the feds on his ass all the time.

So cash was the only solution. If it was something he couldn't fix himself - and it rarely ever was - then he'd stop at the first repair shop he found, hand over the keys, and promise the guy about to lay his grimy hands on his baby that if there was so much as a fingerprint on his girl when he got back, he'd personally be the one to lodge a bullet in his brain.

It always worked. Hell, there'd been a time when he'd come back for her and she'd been washed, inside and out. Not to mention they alphabetized his tape collection.

Yeah, he'd de-alphabetized it right away. Immaculate organization wasn't exactly his style.

So when the Impala needed something that even he couldn't fix, he'd find a bar, hustle some pool, and head over to the repair shop with his newly acquired cash and pay for whatever she needed.

Well, that's what he usually did.

But the day that the Impala's radiator cracked, Dean was in the smallest town he thought he'd ever been to.

And the only bar in town didn't even have a pool table.

* * *

"Son of a bitch!"

Sam sighed, letting his head fall against the back of the seat. He muttered a curse under his breath, extracted his legs from the Impala and headed to the front of the car where Dean was under the hood, mercilessly pouring a gallon of water over the Impala's smoking engine.

"What is it?" Sam asked, waving a hand in front of his face because of the smoke blurring his vision.

"The friggin' radiator. She's overheating," Dean muttered.

Sam rested a hand on the hood above him, immediately yanking it back because of the heat of the metal. Shaking it back and forth to ease the burn, he asked, "Can you fix it?"

Dean stood, glaring at him. "Yeah, Sam. Just give me a few minutes to pull another radiator out of my ass for her."

Sam rolled his eyes, looking in the opposite direction. He heard Dean muttering quietly under his breath - probably words of comfort to his girl - and decided against chastising him for it.

Dean was pissed enough.

Instead, he headed to the trunk, grabbed another gallon of water and some duct tape and closed the trunk. When he made it back to the hood of the car, Dean had finally gotten the smoke to slow down a bit.

"Here," Sam offered, holding out the duct tape. "Can you tape it?"

Dean shook his head, letting out a sigh as he took the gallon of water from Sam. "No, it's too big. It's probably been cracked a while."

Sam rose from where he'd been inspecting the engine with his brother and rested his hands on his hips as he scanned the horizon for a shop nearby. He saw one building, but it looked to be at least a mile away.

"Crap."

"What?" Dean asked, turning to look in the direction Sam was.

Sam pointed to the building he'd found. "There's somethin' there. But it looks like it could be a mile away, maybe more."

Dean came to stand beside his brother, shielding his eyes from the sun as he gave the building a once-over. "Well," he muttered, turning back to the Impala and putting the hood down. "Guess I'll see you in a couple hours."

Sam gave Dean a look of annoyance, to which Dean merely replied to with a smirk.

"Dude, I'm not gonna walk there by myself!" Sam yelled.

"Why not? It's broad daylight, Sam. Nothin's gonna jump out and eat you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Why can't we just drive over there?"

"I'm not driving her around, you idiot! She's sick!"

"Oh for the love of God," Sam muttered, rolling his eyes.

Dean just let out a breath, patting the hood of his car a few times.

"Why don't we head over there together?" Sam asked.

"Are you crazy?" Dean screamed. "Somebody could try to steal her!"

Sam gestured to the deserted road they were on. "Yeah, because there are so many people out here right now to steal your car."

Dean flicked his brother off and argued, "I am not going anywhere. My girl and I are stayin' here."

Sam held up his hands in defeat, licking his lips and sighing. "Fine. Whatever. I'll go and figure out how to get some help for your friggin' car."

"If you're tryin' to make me feel guilty, it ain't workin'."

Sam grunted in frustration, turning and starting to walk down the road. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

* * *

Sam tried to will away the shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he approached the Impala. Dean was stretched out on the hood of the car, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the sunlight.

Sam slapped Dean's foot with his hand. "Mornin', sunshine," he drawled.

"Ass," Dean grumbled, shifting slightly as he attempted to wake up.

"So, it's a bar. There's a couple of other shops farther ahead, but I couldn't tell what they were. Locals say it's another couple miles to a bigger town."

"Repair shop?" Dean asked, still laying on the hood.

"Dunno," Sam shrugged, thankful Dean still had his eyes covered and couldn't see the grin on his face. "I guess once we make some money we can call a tow truck or somethin'."

Dean sat up. "I really hate those friggin' things. What if they scratch her?"

Sam waved a hand at him. "C'mon."

Sam made it three steps away before hearing a "Dude!" over his shoulder.

Sam turned. "Yeah?"

Dean, now standing, held his arms out. "Uh, we gotta take her with us."

Sam huffed. "I thought you wouldn't drive it!"

Dean smirked. "I'm not. I'm just steerin' her."

Sam's eyes widened. "Dude, I'm not pushing it! That car weighs as much as a friggin' house!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't be a pansy. It ain't that hard to do when she's in neutral."

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm not pushing your damned car. If you love her - Christ, _it_ - that much, you push it."

Dean glared at Sam before muttering, "I hate you. A lot."

"So are you pushing it?"

Dean mimicked his question in a high voice and got into the driver's seat. "If she blows up, I'll kick your ass."

"If it blows up, I don't think the cracked radiator is the problem, Dean."

* * *

"Well. It's still running," Sam commented as Dean pulled into the parking lot of the bar.

Dean grimaced, rubbing a hand over the dashboard. "Not well."

Sam sighed, reaching over and taking the keys out of the ignition. "Get out of the car."

"Bite me."

* * *

"The hell, Sam?"

Sam immediately hid the grin on his face. "What?"

Dean turned back to him, arms thrown out in disgust. "Do you see a pool table anywhere?"

Sam pretended to casually glance around the bar. "Huh. No, there isn't one."

"Mazeltov. So how am I supposed to make money, dance on the bar?"

Sam grinned. "Not exactly," he answered, pointing to a sign on the wall beside him.

Dean looked it over, and if Sam wasn't afraid his brother would kill him, he'd have started laughing at Dean's pale face and wide eyes.

"Oh, hell no," Dean mumbled. "Dude, forget it."

Sam huffed. "Dean, c'mon. Winner gets two thousand bucks, plus whatever everybody puts in the tip jar."

Dean turned his wide eyes to Sam. "Dude, I'm not going up there to do….that!" he yelled.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not like they're asking you to strip, Dean. All you have to do is sing."

"I don't do karaoke!" Dean whined.

Sam's grin returned. "Is that stage fright, Dean?" he teased.

Dean immediately straightened his posture. "Of course not."

"Dude, just go up there and sing a song. You'll totally win."

"Sam, no. I'm not gonna sing in a karaoke bar for a bunch of hicks. They probably don't even know who Metallica is!"

"Uh, it's either this or we rob a bank."

Dean looked upwards in thought.

"Dean, we're not robbing a friggin' bank!"

"It'd be easier," Dean muttered.

"Look, you sing in the car all the time. You're not half-bad, so…"

Dean held up a hand. "Hold on. Not half-bad?"

Sam fought off the urge to grin, deciding on a different approach. He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, you're okay."

"Dude, I'm awesome! I'd own these bastards."

"Then go do it!" Sam encouraged.

Dean shifted on his feet. "I dunno, Sam."

"It's for the Impala," Sam reminded him.

Dean's façade returned. He nodded curtly, and repeated, "For the Impala."

* * *

An hour later, Dean was happily counting money behind the wheel of his girl.

"Two thousand, two hundred, dude," Dean grinned. "How does a bar in the middle of nowhere come up with that money?"

"Maybe it was the hand of God," Sam replied sarcastically.

"Thank you, Lord," Dean muttered, shutting his eyes and pretending to pray.

After Sam slugged his brother in the arm, he asked, "So how're we getting to a repair shop?"

Dean's response was a dangerous grin cast in his brother's direction.

* * *

The day the Impala's radiator cracked, Dean sang 'You Shook Me All Night Long' and made twenty-two hundred dollars.

It was also the day Sam plotted how to kill his brother for making him push the car three miles to a repair shop.


End file.
